


Light Simulation

by snarechan



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Clonecest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-28
Updated: 2011-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RED Engineer is up for a good challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light Simulation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nri_ennui](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nri_ennui).



> The last of two gifts given to Nri for Christmas, _Light Simulation_ was finished on the eve of the holiday. It was one of two requests I was able to finish, with the last unfortunately still in progress. Still, two finished fanfics out of the three I intended to bestow isn't bad odds!
> 
> As usual, a great big heaping thanks to Keppiehed for beta reading this - and the rest of the Christmas stories I wrote!

The RED engineer was down-to-earth and interested in self-improvement. He was proud of his accomplishments – meager as they were – and managed to keep his goals simple and personal. Such mentalities had gone unchanged for the years he’d been on Reliable Excavation and Demolition’s payroll, aided by his steady planning and practicality.

Then he and his team were relocated for the first time since they’d joined on, and his resolve was put to the test.

* * *

The desert base was not unlike Texas, and for that Engineer was glad. Though he wasn’t an overly sentimental man, the likeness made him feel nostalgic nonetheless. He remembered the roadrunners that would rush past his house – much like his teammate, Scout, was intent on doing across the battlements – and the sunrises. He permitted himself a moment to reminisce after he ate breakfast with the other RED members and left to drink his coffee on the rickety front porch of the shack they had to reside in.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky to obstruct the rising sun, and he adjusted his hat to permit a clearer view. Today would be a scorcher, he predicted, and Engineer hoped Heavy would be all right. The burly man wasn’t accustomed to this weather. It’d be a darn shame if he collapsed due to heat exhaustion. Engineer made a mental note to check later that the air conditioning units were operational.

The match would commence soon. He was out of caffeine when he saw movement in the enemy base across the way. His BLU counterpart appeared to be enjoying a cup of joe outside, too, and when the mechanic noticed his staring, he tipped his hat to him because his momma raised him right. Maybe for similar reasons, Engineer’s opponent grinned and raised his mug in greeting.

“ _Private, get in here and gear up!_ ” Soldier ordered from inside.

Engineer wasn’t a military man in the sense his teammate considered himself to be, but Soldier referred to everyone as ‘private’ as if they _were._ There was something in his tone that let people know he meant business and, specifically, who he was addressing. No one could tell what gave it away, but it was a custom they were well-versed in. At being addressed, the RED Engineer responded that he was coming and for Soldier to, “hold your horses!”

Before heading inside, he glanced back across the battlefield and noticed that the other engineer was gone, probably to prepare, as well. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, that didn’t bode well, but due to the lack of a logical explanation, he decided to dismiss it.

* * *

There was no reprieve to be found during the fight, as it continued until late in the day. Despite the RED team being veterans, they were unaccustomed to their new surroundings and the tactics exhibited by the enemy. The BLUs were swift, merciless and _crazy_ – a combination that proved tricky to predict and harder to defend against.

At his wits’ end, Engineer was still faring better than, say, their spy, who had lost his suit to the conflict ten times over. He was reported alive, but badly shot, burned and stabbed, if Medic’s frantic reports were to be believed. His attire was not only bloody, but ruined. They’d be hearing his complaints until his new set arrived from whatever high-end tailor he’d special order it from.

Huffing, he concentrated on putting the finishing touches on his second-level sentry, proud to be able to get _this_ far. A pyro had ridden hot on his heels until Demo had blown him twice to respawn and kept him occupied. He had to hand it to the BLUs – they were persistent.

“All right, Peggy, time to shine,” he said, setting his weapon to kill. The machine gave a shudder as the additional components booted up and began to patrol for incoming adversaries, humming with intent.

Satisfaction swelled in him at a job well done, and he was about to start work on another when an onslaught of gunfire caused him to instinctively duck. _Was it machine gunfire?_ He peeked his head out from his hiding place, looking for anyone toting such a weapon, but the assault wasn’t due to a person. A stream of bullets was coming from over the ridge and took out three of his unsuspecting teammates.

The BLU engineer was lounging behind seven – _seven_ – high level sentries, both hands cushioning his head and his feet propped on one of his weapons. It was as if an impenetrable wall had been created because the defense systems were lined up in such a way that prevented a single person from sneaking past. Engineer gaped at the sight, puzzled that someone could complete that many in such a short time span without anyone noticing. Engineer had had a similar plan to utilize the region, wanting to trap troops after they started cresting the hill from the wide valley below, and hadn’t perceived activity.

Cowed, Engineer looked at his one machine and felt like apologizing for shaming the name of tinkerers everywhere.

Returning his attention to the battlefield, the man noticed that he had BLU Engineer’s attention. His opponent smiled at him the same way he had that morning and gave a five-fingered wave. Engineer’s deeply ingrained southern hospitality kicked in before he even realized he waved back.

* * *

Circumstances escalated from that point forward, and not in Engineer’s favor. Whatever task he carried out, no matter how advanced his designs, he was outdone by his rival. He’d never held a personal vendetta against another person until now, and truth be told, he didn’t much care for it. His work was executed sloppily in comparison to his previous efforts the more the situation grated on his nerves, but that might be the insecurity talking.

Since arriving and witnessing the extent of what their hardware was capable of, Engineer felt as if he were slipping. The eleven PhDs he’d acquired meant little if he couldn’t push his limits. He tried his best to compete – _shoot,_ to even keep stride with the BLU’s engineer – but whenever he devised a solid device, there was a bigger and better machine waiting to exceed his on the differing side.

The fact that he wasn’t the sole person to suffer due to his shortcomings made the situation worse. No one could detect or track the BLU Engineer. He was more elusive than any spy and twice as crafty, setting up shop and eliminating RED troops in seconds. The boys were considerate enough not to hold it against him, but their numerous trips to the respawn were making them cross.

Engineer didn’t understand how it was possible. He’d quadruple-checked the math, mapping out locations, supplies and calculating everything else that might factor into assisting or hindering production. The answer did _not_ exist. His analysis was scrawled across blueprints, on walls and over whatever surface was free, before moving onto post-it notes that he’d pasted over _that._ His arm even sported some hastily inked comments from when he’d run out of paper to jot down algorithms on. Engineer had done all he could to discover the BLU’s secret to success, but there, too, he’d failed.

Mentally spent, Engineer permitted himself a short reprieve and collapsed in a rickety chair coated in footnotes and multicolored slips of paper. Though he wished it to be otherwise, Engineer had been losing sleep over this problem. He’d lie down late at night – after wracking his noggin dry and his hands were covered in excess ink – and ponder until almost dawn, but he never experienced an epiphany. The lack of rest and answers weighed heavy on his mind, unused to being denied solutions.

“Laddie, you in there?”

Engineer started out of his reverie and glanced around when their demoman creaked open the door to his makeshift workshop. Idly, he wondered how much the man had drunk before getting up the nerve to approach the area. It wasn’t that they were on bad terms, their team’s situation aside, but whenever someone sprung in on him unexpectedly there tended to be volatile consequences. That may explain why Demo was the man in charge of checking in on him from time to time. Who better to test for explosions than the man trained to set them off?

“Yep.”

The man let out a whistle of astonishment at the sight of his workspace littered in numbers and patterns that must have seemed like mad science or an alien language.

“Been cooped up a bit lon’, aye?” Demo said, his one eye trailing from the walls to the floor. He stepped carefully, minding not to smear or erase lines of code as he approached. “Medic is startin’ to threaten ye, if ya don’t return soon to at least eat or…” he trailed off, still giving Engineer’s work a weary glance, “get some fresh air.”

“Mm,” Engineer acknowledged, and knew better than to argue. “I suppose letting this go for a spell might give me a chance to clear my head.”

“What’cha workin’ on, lad?”

He waved his hand as mild irritation returned to him and stopped himself short of explaining the mess in finer detail. Most – if not all – of the information would go over his comrade’s head, and besides, he understood what Demo was really inquiring. Engineer said, “Trying to make sense of that BLU engineer, Demo. He’s got this… _greater plan,_ and it’s just out of my grasp.”

Demo gave him a pat on the shoulder in consolation, then ushered him up and closer to the door.

“You’ll figure it out – ye always do,” he said. “Nothin’ a cold one or a walk can’t cure.”

“It’s sure worth investigating,” he admitted, and left to take his break elsewhere and not contemplate his dilemma more than he must. Engineer passed in joining Demo for drinks, however, and instead ambled along the rusted and rickety fence that lined the RED property. The fresh air was soothing and it wasn’t often he was permitted to indulge, so he took advantage of the small freedom.

During his stroll, he heard guitar music.

Radio frequencies that weren’t sanctioned by their employers didn’t reach this close to the battlements, and Engineer sure didn’t recall a record player among the shacks assortment of pre-arranged supplies. Besides, the sound was too clear to be transmitted. He was getting closer to the source, and he removed his goggles to rub his eyes in bewilderment at the sight of the BLU engineer strumming the stringed instrument. He was reclining back on an old, abandoned chicken coop and didn’t appear alarmed, despite the close proximity to an enemy base and the dire consequences at being discovered.

“What in tarnation-”

The other man glanced up at his intrusion and grinned, pausing in his playing to regard Engineer properly before starting up again.

“Glad to finally make your acquaintance!”

“Howdy,” he greeted in return, and wanted to strike himself in the head immediately after with a wrench. Paid mercenaries did _not_ say hello to their competitors, even if they were courteous. “You’ll be begging my pardon, but you shouldn’t be here.”

“And why would that be?”

“Well…” he began, and then thought over his retort more closely. Technically, the BLU wasn’t trespassing. The structure he was lounging on resided on the opposite side of the fence by a small margin, and he wasn’t causing a negative disturbance. His playing might be argued as such, but with big mouthed, high-strung teammates such as Engineer’s, tranquility was a foolish notion to claim.

Clearing his throat, he offered, “It isn’t polite to loiter.”

The man chuckled, his strumming rhythmic and unwavering.

“Loitering implies I intend to make a nuisance of myself, which I don’t.”

Engineer wanted to disagree and send him away because the BLU was at the center of most of his problems, but didn’t have the means. He’d pick and choose his battles, and this particular confrontation wasn’t worth wasting energy.

With a careful gait, he approached and climbed the fence separating them so that he was closer to the man’s eye level. He noted that he’d removed his protective eyewear, too. Unwittingly, he noticed that his eyes were a steel blue, in opposition to Engineer’s deep, chocolate brown.

“Mind my asking what you’re playing?” Engineer asked, not recognizing the tune.

“ _This World Is Not My Home_ by Jimmy Martin,” he supplied, easy enough, and suddenly stopped to reach towards him. Engineer flinched, nearly losing his grip and balance, and felt gloved fingers catch against his shirt. His hand came back holding a yellow post-it note with a formula scribbled across it in Engineer’s distinct handwriting:

  
The note must have stuck to his clothes during his intense musings, when he’d sat or brushed against something in his workroom. As the BLU examined it, Engineer had to fight down a harried reaction, brought on by embarrassment at getting caught. The equation wasn’t complex to someone of their trade and it would be apparent what he was up to.

Chuckling again, his counterpart removed a pencil from behind his ear and emphasized certain parts, as if correcting Engineer’s focus.

“You’re close, partner, but you’ve still got some wrangling to do,” he said, and placed the piece of paper on the RED’s chest. His fingers firmly pressed and held it there for a second to guarantee that it stuck. “You’re on the right course. I _do_ have an interest in those newfangled computers. You could even say this is one of my favorites.”

The way he mentioned his point struck Engineer as unsettling, despite the genuine smile the man directed at him. He excused himself, angling his guitar on his back and leaving, whistling the same tune he’d plucked on the strings of his instrument.

Engineer observed, and wondered.

* * *

The next match arrived with its usual fanfare, the Announcer blaring warnings in her condescending tone. Normally, the broadcasts wouldn’t have bothered him, but Engineer was running on coffee and an hour or two of sleep. He’d woken up that morning with his face covered in backwards lists and annotations, having fallen asleep at his desk. A headache was one among many problems he faced.

He felt irate and inadequate, and was contemplating trading Scout for one of his _Bonk! Atomic Punch_ drinks out of sheer desperation, but a BLU popped into existence close by and distracted him. Engineer ceased in his construction of a teleporter to level a shotgun toward the new arrival – a scout, who froze when he cocked the gun. He intended to fight back until the enemy got a better look at him; the BLU scout gulped and, kicking up clouds of dirt everywhere, fled the way he’d come.

Bewildered by the kid’s behavior, Engineer lowered his weapon and rubbed behind his neck. The BLU hadn’t stood in fear of his gun – odds were he was faster than his RED equivalent and could have taken on Engineer, easily – but at _him._ He hadn’t appeared intimidated until he spotted _who_ held the shotgun. Engineer didn’t understand what he’d done to deserve such a powerful reaction.

Shrugging, he concluded that the act must have been a fluke and carried on.

Except it wasn’t a coincidence.

Various Builders League United personnel responded in similar fashion whenever they crossed paths with Engineer. Not a single spy sapped his equipment; the pyro that had complicated his job earlier didn’t show a spark of his or herself, and, at one point, when he came across a BLU sniper’s hiding place, the Australian yelped and dove over the railing of the two story station in his haste to escape.

It was apparent he was being avoided, but the question of _why_ remained uncertain.

* * *

Engineer paced, rubbing his chin as he looked at what he’d written. He’d resorted to using the windows now, the glass and shutters lined with many notes, but he’d recorded the equation the BLU engineer had seen at least fifty times – hoping that the repetition might jumpstart his intuition into action. Nothing yet, but he was adamant. The solution was staring him in the face; he could _tell,_ the ideologies resting at the precipice of his vision and taunting him.

The BLUs’ terror was connected somehow, too, and he suspected it had to do with his counterpart. Nothing had changed except his meeting with the BLU engineer, though what could he have said to his teammates to instill such order in them? There wasn’t a hierarchy in squadrons. Each member held a key part and, individually, had strengths and weaknesses that needed to be accounted for. To hold enough authority over the rest would mean an upset in balance, but the conflicting side seemed to function rather well against the RED forces – not to mention his rival had already demonstrated time and again that he exceedingly held his own.

Continuing to pace, he alternated from examining the window to the room at large. The things he’d written down seemed like a jumble of nothing. Past the panes, the sun set, bouncing off metal outposts to threaten blinding him whenever he glanced up to view his work. Unable to stand the glare any longer, Engineer grumbled and left the path he’d made in the floorboards to close the blinds.

That was when he made the discovery. It might have been the way the light hit the equation or his mind wandered, but whatever the case, he found what it was he sought.

“Son of a gun,” Engineer murmured in dawning awe. “He’s…he’s learned how to cheat the _system._ ”

The revelation was as grand as he thought it would be and he had to sit down, stumbling backwards until his legs came into contact with a seat. He collapsed onto the chair and stared, gradually retreating into his mind. This was so obvious as to be non-obvious, simple in its insane complexity. No wonder Engineer had found himself confused beyond reason. This changed… _everything._

Releasing a pent-up breath that may have resembled a laugh, he felt as if his old self were returning, transformed. Now that he understood the direction he was supposed to be heading in, it was only a matter of time until he was on the same level as his counterpart. With the amount of control he’d have – _no._ He wouldn’t abuse this newfound knowledge. He’d level the playing field with it, though, and if the BLU Engineer wanted him all to himself, well…

He was willing to play this game.

-Fin-

**Author's Note:**

> (1) The equation used is canonically Engineer’s favorite. It refers to the light and color rendering calculations set in TF2. It’s also fucking impossible to type out in Word. I tried.  
> ([2](http://www.bluegrasslyrics.com/node/1071)) 1963. Jimmy Martin – _This World Is Not My Home._ He was known as the “King of Bluegrass” (hurr hurr see what I did thar?); an American musician.  
>  (3) For clarification, since I suck and might have wrote it too obscurely, I was trying to make an allusion to the BLU Engineer as (being played by) a hacker, the lazy varmint.


End file.
